


A Knight in Rusty Armor (and in love)

by Valethra



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Comedy, Contemporary Fantasy, Fluff, Friendship, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Original Fiction, and also pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-04-18 17:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14217984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valethra/pseuds/Valethra
Summary: Tidus Crestfall doesn't want to be a knight. He certainly doesn't want to enter the knight's tournament. He DEFINITELY doesn't want to fight a dragon. But most of all, he doesn't want to marry a princess. How can Tidus win (or even survive) the tournament's challenges alongside REAL Knights from prestigious families? How will he make it back in one piece? And, more importantly, how is he supposed to put his feelings aside and ignore his gorgeous fellow competitor?





	1. Why Me?!

It's hard for an old-fashioned family to adapt to modern life.

This is especially true for my family, seeing as we are a family of Knights with a lineage that goes back about six hundred years. ...Actually, it's probably not that long. That's just what my father says, and he definitely likes to exaggerate.

My name is Tidus. Most people just say their first name and then follow it with their last name, but that's not how families like mine do things. So if anyone important asks, I say that I'm Tidus of the House of Crestfall. It's a terrible last name for a Knight, isn't it? It's like I was doomed to fail from the very beginning.

I'll be honest. I have no interest in being a Knight. It's not like we still serve kings or anything. These days, Knights simply participate in tournaments to earn winnings and prestige for their families, and if they're lucky, they can make a career later in life on commission work— getting rid of monsters for city councils and stuff.

It might sound easy enough, but I can assure you that it isn't. I've had to train every day of my life for as long as I can remember. And for what? So my parents can yell at me some more? So they can remind me that it's my job, and mine alone, to restore our family's fallen honor? They don't even care that I want to run a rescue for abandoned magical beasts. And it's not like it's _my_ fault that my great-great-great-great-grandfather betrayed his King and got all of his descendants cursed with eternal poverty. All that matters, to my family, is our soiled reputation.

That's how I ended up getting entered into this tournament against my will. As soon as I turned eighteen and graduated from high school, my father signed me up for the biggest Knight's tournament of them all. The objective is as cliché as they come— we are expected to travel across a kingdom until we reach a castle built within a cavern of magma, and then we have to defeat a dragon and save the princess trapped inside of the castle. The first one to do so (or, as is sometimes the case, the last man left alive) gets the hand of that princess in marriage as well as a heaping pile of gold.

...I have a lot of questions. Why are princesses so poorly guarded, to the point that they're always getting taken away by dragons? Does this princess have any actual power, or is she just a figurehead, or a symbol of sorts? Why do they still pay in gold coins? Can't they just learn to use PayPal like everybody else?

I know I probably won't ever get answers to my questions. I'm sure they'd say "That's just the way we do things". It's a line I've heard a thousand times.

My father signed me up for this tournament, and then, before I knew it, there was a royal escort at my door. I was given plenty of clothing to wear, and some spending money to help me make it across the mountains and forests. I was offered armor and weapons, too, but my father insists that I use the ratty ones passed down in my family. I think that my grandfather made them. And since he was more buff than I am, I have to wear two shirts underneath my chest plate. It's hot, and it's itchy, and it's uncomfortable. My shield is really heavy compared to the more sleek modern designs, and my sword is blunt with a slightly rusted handle. I look like a total laughingstock. But, as usual, my family's pride drowns out my complaints.

I look outside of the window of the carriage that I'm currently riding in. It's strange to see cars alongside it. This _is_ a road, after all. The cars grow fewer in number as we reach the outskirts of town, and by the time we're in royal territory, the concrete pavement and painted lines give way to stone and brick.

We get to spend the first night of the tournament in the Castle. We get to sleep in plush beds after the Royal family throws a feast in our honor. There's a parade in the afternoon, and local villagers can offer up gifts for their favorite Knights, while craftsmen tend to sell weaponry and witches add their enchanted items to the prize pool for the victor. These days, the tournament has become a huge gambling event. If a villager gives you a present, it's probably because he put a lot of money on your success.

I can hear the uproar and excitement of the castle town before the carriage reaches it. The carriage is greeted by villagers lining the roads and leaning from their windows, and they throw flowers and rice and confetti. For a little while, I feel a surge of happiness and pride. It's nice to be treated like a hero. It feels good to have people cheering for you.

But my hopes are quickly dashed. As soon as I step out of my carriage, the crowd lulls into a quiet. All that I can hear is whispering.

"Who _is_ that?"

"I dunno. I haven't seen him before."

"Is he even a real Knight?"

"He must be— that's an official carriage."

"What's that banner say? _Crestfall?_ What kind of a name is that for a knight?"

"Has anybody cast a bet for that guy?"

"How could we do that if we didn't even know he was competing?!"

I try to tune the villagers out. I don't want to be here any more than they want me to be. Even so, I feel like I've disappointed them. The children, especially, look dissatisfied.

There's a new burst of screams and applause behind me. I turn to see a chariot twice the size of mine, with red flags fluttering above it. _Silvershield_. Now _there's_ a Knight's name.

The Knight that steps out doesn't get the same hush that I received. The crowd gets even louder when it sees him. He's a really big, beefy guy, with shiny platinum armor and a dramatic red cape pinned to his chest with golden clasps. He strikes a few poses. I can't tell if he's arrogant, or if that's for the sake of the children, who excitedly snap pictures and give him candy and ask for autographs. He signs a few, and accepts a few gifts, before he gallantly strides towards me.

"Hey there, short stuff," he says with a wink. He gestures at the castle. "Aren't we supposed to be heading in there, and not just standing along the road?"

"R-Right." I want to object to being called _short stuff_ , but it's not like he's wrong. I do look tiny compared to most of these Knights and the guards. At least my armor makes me look a bit less scrawny.

The Knight of the House of Silvershield tells me plenty about himself as we walk, side-by-side, onto the castle grounds. His first name is Elias, and his family have been Knights for over two thousand years. His great-great-grandfather saved Princess Isabelle from the fearsome six-headed dragon Volcanoth. I think to myself that Elias seems to think very highly of himself, but not without reason. He seems like a nice enough guy. A bit simple-minded, though.

The castle grounds are full of immaculate hedges and rose bushes and gushing fountains that have attracted a number of birds. It's exactly like what I pictured. I'm not sure if I should be happy or disappointed by that. I don't have long to think it over— I'm suddenly at the castle's grand double doors. Elias gives me a friendly slap on the back. I worry that he's going to tear my cape, which very literally seems to be made from several empty sacks of potatoes.

"It's your moment to shine, kid! Give them your best smile!"

I try to do as he tells me as the doors swing open. The muffled laughter that I'm greeted with informs me that we look exactly as I'd expected us to— like Elias had found some stray middle schooler outside and told him he could pretend to be a Knight.

A bugle plays as we make our way down the red carpet. The Royal announcer calls out our names, and a scribe writes down the facts of our arrival. I spot my family's banner and stand beneath it, cradling my helmet under one arm and putting a fist to my chest like I was taught to do. Everyone else makes it look so natural. I feel like an idiot.

I'm standing beside a giant of a man in dark armor and a purple cloak. He has long jet-black hair and sharp silver eyes and an even sharper jaw. He gives me a glance, and then he sneers. His banner says _Thorncloak_. I've been warned about him.

The House of Thorncloak plays dirty. Everyone knows that. But there isn't exactly a rulebook for these things, so nothing is ever done. People usually place their bets on Thorncloak boys. Their methods are dishonorable and detestable and disagreeable, but they work. More often than not, if there is a Thorncloak involved, he wins. End of story. No amount of chivalry seems able to change that.

Across from me is a tall guy with glasses on, with the kind of hair so blonde that it edges on white, under a banner labeled _House of Wormwood_. He's another one to watch out for. The Wormwood family is made up of intellectual scholar types. They're methodical, and most dangerous of all, they're cold. They'd toss aside a friend in an instant if he became a burden.

As I continue to scan the room, I spot more and more familiar names. At least my father's stubbornness has given me an idea of what to expect. The information doesn't necessarily make me feel any better. It just serves to remind me that these people are on a completely different level. They're so far above me that I don't deserve to be in the same room.

Within minutes, each Knight has arrived. There are twenty of us, ten on each side of the red carpet. We aren't allowed to look at King Remus, seated on his throne atop a platform at the end of this long room, until he gives us his permission to do so. I hold my breath as I hear him rise from his chair, and he clears his throat.

"Gentlemen. Please face the throne."

We take the cue and look toward him. He's younger than I imagined. His hair and his beard are still brown. His crown, crafted from gold and laden with rubies, looks heavy. Is that real fur lining the collar of his cape?

"Lord Cromwell— please step forward."

The Knight he summons steps forward and kneels at the bottom of the stairs. The King steps down them, slowly, and puts a medallion around his neck. This process repeats, nineteen times, until it's finally my turn. I hear people snickering as I approach. The announcer commands them to quiet down, which makes me feel even worse. Like I'm the class snitch.

The medallion is heavy around my neck as I return to my post. I feel the image emblazoned on it with my fingers. It's a rose. That makes sense. If anything, it's a bit too on-the-nose. King Remus' kidnapped daughter— her _name_ is Rose.

"You are hereby dismissed, gentlemen! You may do as you please in town until you hear the sound of the bell, at which point you shall return to the castle for the feast."

I breathe a sigh of relief at the permission to flee.

Hopefully I'll get taken out of the running early.

Then this will all be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a while back I was working on making my first original story thing, which I intended to be a collection of short stories about a contemporary fantasy world. This whole thing started out as one chapter, but it spun out of control and is now its own kinda separate thing. So here you go!!


	2. To See the Light

Most of the Knights don't wander too far into town. They stay on the castle grounds, where only "official" merchants and high-ranking people are allowed. Elias is presented with a portrait of himself painted by a really impressive artist. Victor, of the House of Thorncloak, buys some ominous-looking items from a local witch. The Wormwood boy, Samuel, peruses weaponry and seems very interested in acquiring a bow. There's a decent bard playing for tips, and a few kids have been allowed into the castle walls because they have respectable families. To my surprise, respectable and rich aren't synonymous here. It's a refreshing change.

I managed, somehow, to "befriend" another guy that looks to be about my age. He seems less invested in this than the people like Victor and Samuel.

"It's not that I hate being a Knight or anything. And my family's not especially traditional," he explains. "It's just not my full-time plan, y'know? As soon as I've competed in a few good tournaments and made my father proud, I'll step down to focus on what I really want to do."

 _Must be nice_ , I think with a flare of jealousy.

"And what is it that you want to do?" I ask.

"I want to be a scribe, actually. My great-uncle is the current one. It's why my family seems to know so much about everything. He gets to see and hear all the good stuff."

I nod along. It makes sense.

"...Your family supports you in that?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"...Just asking."

I keep my frown to myself. There no use in dragging Ezekiel down with me.

Ezekiel is from the House of Cromwell. They're another intellectual family, but they're more business-minded and practical than snooty and condescending like the Wormwoods. Cromwells typically attend good colleges and go into the medical field or become historians when they're finished with their Knighthood careers. They're not the best at winning tournaments and rarely survive the early rounds, but they're respectable and well-known enough to make up for that. I'm glad to have a Cromwell on my side.

"Tell me more about the other Knights," I manage to say after an awkward silence. "I know plenty about the local families, but not much about the contestants."

"Well..." He looks around to make sure that no one can hear him, and then he decides where he should begin. He gestures at Victor Thorncloak. "The first thing you should know is that Victor is exactly what you think he is. He's a brute. His family often gets paid to take certain people out. They left the 'code of chivalry' behind ages ago in favor of money and power, and they're well-versed in the dark arts and secretive assassination techniques. So be on your guard around him."

"Got it." I'd expected as much.

"The same applies to Samuel in that he's what his family wants him to be. He's cunning. If he ever offers you help or guidance, don't listen. He's probably trying to set you up so that you get yourself taken out of the running. He'll lay traps where you least expect them, and he won't feel bad about it."

"Okay— avoid talking to Samuel. Got it."

"Elias is... He's simple. He says exactly what he's thinking, and he's a bit too gung-ho about all of this. He's a fierce competitor, but he's not the sort to betray people or anything like that. And if you manage to beat him, he won't get angry. He'll just try harder next time. ...That said, he's not so bright. He can be easily tricked, and he might rush headfirst into something dangerous without thinking. He's good to have on your side for battles, but don't let him make executive decisions."

I listen carefully as Ezekiel details the personalities of the many contestants I saw in the hall. I wasn't able to get a good look at many of them, since I was at the very end of the carpet. There's Thaddeus of Thunderhell, a notorious coward who's all bark and no bite, and Serin of Ridgeworth, a quiet and observant marksman. Most of the bets seems to be on Zacariah of Dragonsbane. They're a no-nonsense athletic family with a focus solely on competition, and they almost always make it to the final rounds. Zacariah, especially, is pretty tall, and he looks tough.

It's true that Thorncloaks and Wormwoods often win by cunning and trickery, but almost no one bets on them. And that's simply because no one likes them. People like to feel like they're rooting for the underdog, anyway.

"Ah! And how could I forget... We have nobility and wealth amongst us this year. You probably haven't seen him yet, since he was at the very front of the room. _Very_ prestigious family," Ezekiel recalls aloud.

That piques my interest. Nobility? Hardly any of the local Knight families can claim that they have that status anymore. A prestigious family... I run through the list in my head. Ezekiel can see that I'm thinking, and he laughs, gesturing at me not to bother.

"They're not a local family," he says. "They've travelled quite a distance to compete this year. And they do it almost every year for the big tournaments. I'm surprised that you don't know who I'm talking about."

I shake my head.

"Sorry. No idea."

Ezekiel stops and studies our surroundings. He grabs me by the shoulder and maneuvers me to join him behind the safety of a hedge. Then, he points through the foliage at a distant figure. I can only see his back, but he has well-kept blonde hair, armor made from a pale silver metal, and a grey-green cape. He seems to be talking to a witch and buying some aromatic potions— for good luck, and for relaxation of the nerves. Or, maybe, just because they smell nice.

"That's Sir Lancelot. ...Literally. That's his name."

"...Seriously?"

"Dead serious. He usually goes by Lance, though. He's kind of embarrassed by it."

I would be embarassed, too. A name like that carries expectations all on its own.

"Just about everyone who's not betting on Zachariah is betting on him." As Ezekiel explains, a group of young maidens approaches Sir Lancelot, each with hand-picked bouquets of flowers. They giggle as he accepts them, and then they run away. Interestingly, Lancelot looks more overwhelmed than pleased, if his body language is any indication of how he's feeling. Ezekiel clicks his tongue in irritation. "...Huh. Must be nice. The ladies just can't get enough of that guy, but he hardly seems to notice. Perhaps he's shy."

"What's the family name?" I ask, trying to conceal my discomfort with the subject matter. Ezekiel raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment.

"That would be Sir Lancelot of Elvensword."

My mouth drops. _The_ Elvensword?

The family earned that name eight hundred years ago, when its founding patriarch defeated a wicked elven sorcerer and his minions all by himself, thus freeing an entire enslaved kingdom. And ever since, they've been nobility, and blessed with unimaginable wealth. Any Knight who hasn't heard the name has been living under a rock his entire life.

"Holy shit." It's all I can manage. Ezekiel has to cover his mouth so that his laughter won't betray our hiding place.

"That about sums it up," he laughs. "I'm glad you've at least heard of them. Lancelot himself, I'm told, is a bit timid for a Knight... He's a very good fighter, yes, but he's not exactly eager about battle like all of his forefathers have been. They think something must be distracting him."

"Like he wants to run away with his secret girlfriend, or some other cliché?"

"It's probably something like that. ...But that doesn't mean you should take him lightly."

I shudder.

"Oh, don't worry. I won't."

When the conversation finishes, Ezekiel pats me on the back once more, and we crawl out of our secretive spot. I try not to look directly in Lancelot's direction. I feel like he'll be able to tell that I was spying on him if I do. Ezekiel informs me that he plans to check out some healing potions, just in case, before we set off, so I shake his hand and we part ways.

I'm left alone. The pressure starts to build on me once more. I make up my mind to go back into the castle and take a nap in my room. But before I can go, I feel a gentle tug on my wrist.

"Lord Crestfall? This child wishes to speak with you."

I turn, shocked, to find a guard holding the hand of a little girl. She's wearing ragged clothing, and there's dirt on her face and her hands. She is, no doubt, impoverished, and it seems that the guard took pity on her and allowed her within the castle walls.

"H-Hi," I manage. I kneel down in front of her so that we're on the same level and force a smile. "My name is Tidus. What's yours?"

"Lucy." She shyly avoids my eyes and fiddles with her apron. "...Does your family not have a lot of money, Sir Tidus?"

"...We don't. It's that obvious, huh?" I chuckle. This kid's poor herself, so I'm sure she doesn't mean anything rude by it.

"My mommy and daddy work really hard, but I have lots of brothers and sisters, and mommy's always sick, so we don't have a lot of money either. That's... That's why I like you a lot. There's never anybody like me in the tournament."

I... don't know what to say, quite frankly. I wasn't expecting to be touched by the support of a fan, especially not here. Before I can say anything, Lucy produces a little stuffed doll. It's made out of burlap, like my cape probably is, and appears to be lovingly handmade.

"It's my Princess Rose dolly," Lucy explains as she carefully puts the tiny toy in my hand. "She keeps me safe when I sleep. You can borrow her for a while. You won't get hurt if you have her!"

She smiles at me. I stare, wide-eyed, at the doll before I carefully close my grip around it.

"I'll... keep it in my pouch at all times. You have my word. Thank you very much, Lucy."

The kid gives me a quick hug before the guard escorts her back to her family outside. I can barely see them through the iron gate. The mother looks frail, and she's holding a baby.

Before this moment, I hadn't cared at all about succeeding in this tournament. But, just now, it occurs to me: I don't have to do this for myself, or for my family. I have to do it for all of the underdogs. For all of the kids who've spent their whole lives getting told that they can't amount to anything.

I take a deep breath as I stand up and put the doll in my pouch. Prize or no prize, I have to do this for Lucy. And I have to make it back here in one piece so that I can return her doll to her.


	3. Blue-Eyed Beauty

The bell rings, and all of the Knights, many of them now laden with gifts and new weaponry and equipment, assemble in the dining hall. The feast itself has not yet begun, so most of the guys are chatting and getting to know each other and goofing around. I can see the table being set, and it looks like seating is assigned. There's enough room at the ridiculously long table for all of us. ...Or is that several tables put together and hidden by a ridiculously long tablecloth? I have no way of knowing just by looking. Maybe I'll look under the cloth and try to determine the truth.

I stay in a corner, by myself, and try not to bother anyone. I really do. But thanks to my stupid ancestors, trouble is always guaranteed to find me.

"Ow!"

I cry out as someone's brand-new dagger, the one he was showing off and recklessly swinging around, clips the bridge of my nose. It's bleeding. It's bleeding a lot, even if the cut isn't bad.

"I-I didn't mean to do that," Daniel of Pridebanner, the dagger-waver, insists. Serin of Ridgeworth disapprovingly shakes his head.

"Tidus! Are you okay?!" Ezekiel runs to my side. He's accompanied by Lucius of Riversong, who's already carrying bandages.

And so, I spent most of the pre-feast party getting my face cleaned up and having a bandage taped across the bridge of my nose.

"At least I _look_ like I've been in battle," I laugh as Lucius makes sure the bandage is secured. He applied a serum, one that he literally _just_ bought outside, that seems to have stopped the bleeding.

"I don't know that a dinner party counts as a battle," Lucius says teasingly. "I didn't think I'd have to pull out the first aid equipment before we even leave the castle."

Daniel, meanwhile, protests Serin's temporary confiscation of his dagger. Daniel seems like he means well, but he's always joking around and showing off, and it was bound to get somebody hurt. I just wish it hadn't been me.

I'm relieved when the announcer calls everyone to their seats. I can't help but wiggle back and forth in excitement as the cooks start bringing the dishes. It's more or less a buffet. We're allowed to have whatever we want, and don't have to worry about courses or eating in the right order. The King is at the very end of the table, and he gives some speech before we're allowed to dig in. I start to carve myself some turkey, just so that I already have it by the time the gravy boat makes its way back to me.

I've been keeping my head down to conceal my injury, but I feel like someone is staring at me. It's unnerving to be able to _feel_ someone's eyes. I guess, without looking up, that I've been seated across from Victor. That guy has eyes that could kill, right? But then I notice that this presence isn't menacing. So, no, not Victor. I tell myself to act cool, and then I look up.

I'm met with the bluest pair of eyes I've ever seen. They're a deeper blue than the usual pale color, almost turquoise, like the water in those commercials for beach resorts.

They're so blue that I can't think straight. ...In more ways than one.

"Are you alright? What happened to your nose? You didn't have that before."

"You're pretty." Blue-eyes raises his eyebrows very slightly. " _Observant_. Pretty observant." The eyebrows lower themselves again.

 _Good job, Tidus_. Thankfully, the other guy doesn't seem hung up on my mistake and allows it to slide off his back.

"Not particularly. A bandage like that is difficult to miss."

As he's talking, I look over the rest of him for some hint of who I'm talking to. And then I notice the green of his cape, affixed around his neck with an intricate silver crest, and realize that I've already seen him. Even if it was while I was spying from a bush.

 _Lancelot_. I'm talking to frickin' Lancelot of Elvensword, and I've already managed to make a fool out of myself. He's still wearing that cape even though we're not in our full armor anymore... It must be some kind of family symbol. Or maybe he just likes wearing it. How am I supposed to know?!

"I-It's nothing serious. _Sir Daniel_ over there was waving his dagger around like an idiot, and he nicked me with it. Lucius patched me up. It looks a lot worse than it is."

"Injuries of the head and face bleed a great deal. Even a superficial wound can turn into a bloodbath if you're not careful." Lancelot says this matter-of-factly, and then he gives me a smile. It's gentle, but his absurdly blue eyes crinkle at the corners, so that they almost look like they've slanted upwards. Not many people smile with their whole face like that anymore. "That said, I'm glad it was nothing to be too concerned with. We wouldn't want people falling before the tournament even begins, would we?"

I try, as hard as I can, to return his smile, and I manage something awkward and lopsided. His expression doesn't change much even as he returns his attention to his plate. A soft smile still rests on his lips, and it looks natural and comfortable there. Even if something about it, when I look closely, is a little... Strange? I can't really put my finger on it.

 _Jesus Christ_ , I think to myself while he isn't looking. _This guy is so goddamn gorgeous that it almost pisses me off_.

...I feel like I should mention something before we go any further. Maybe I haven't been totally transparent.

See, being from a traditional Knight family means marrying a woman whose hand you won in battle, preferably a noble woman, and then having as many kids (sons, really) as possible to continue the family's namesake. That's just the way we do things.

But the thing is, I've never been interested in girls.

It's not that I _hate them_ or anything. I'm definitely not a misogynist. Most of my friends are women. I just don't _like_ -like girls in the way that every other guy my age seems to. When my friends in grade school were fighting over Julia, I had my eye on John. When they were chasing Beverly in high school, I was trying to hide my crush on Benjamin. It's the way I've always been.

I've mostly kept it to myself. I've tried to, anyway. Somehow my parents can see right through me, and my father seems to think it's something he can beat out of me if he does it often enough.

 _Oh, Lord_. What am I doing thinking about that at a time like this? I can feel my own expression sour.

"...Are you absolutely sure you're alright?"

Lancelot's voice distracts me. My body jerks as I'm dragged back into the present.

"I'm fine," I say, obviously lying. "Just... Just nervous, is all."

"Nervous?" His head tilts very slightly. God, that's cute. "Whatever for?"

"...Eh?"

When he registers my confusion, he smiles again, this one apologetic, and chuckles.

"There's... nothing to be afraid of. I won't allow any fatalities."

I whistle. Now _there's_ some chivalry. I'd started to think that it had all died off.

"I'm glad," I reply, and this time, I'm being honest. "I'll stop worrying about it, then. ...I'll try to, anyway. In case you missed my dingy outfit, my family's got a lot riding on this."

"I know about your family already. I did thorough research before arriving."

I lean forward on the table, balancing my weight on my elbows. He's piqued my curiosity.

"Oh? ...What exactly do you claim to know about me?"

Lancelot thoughtfully chews his turkey and swallows before answering.

"Tidus, House of Crestfall, eighteen years old. Brown hair, green eyes, about five-foot-six, size seven shoes, slim build. Your family is about four hundred years old, but an ancestor betrayed his King and brought poverty to all of his descendants. Your parents are Julius and Mary. Julius is a blacksmith by trade, which is a difficult business these days, particularly because he cannot afford high-quality material to work with, but he's too stubborn to switch professions. Mary keeps the family afloat by selling flowers, and you do odd jobs around town for spending money. You were reluctant to enter this year's tournament, and you specialize in hand-to-hand combat, as you are more quick and agile than you are strong. You have received below-average to average grades on most of your Knighthood exams, but score well in chivalry and in courage."

I'm left slack-jawed by the time he's finished (and it turns out my father _did_ lie about our lineage). It's almost like the guy knows more about me than I do. For one thing, I didn't know that I "specialize" in hand-to-hand combat. My phrase of choice has always been "it's the only thing I'm even sort of good at".

"That... That about sums it up, yeah."

Lancelot conceals a giggle.

"I suppose a fair trade would be..." He looks into the distance as he thinks. "...You may ask whatever you wish."

"Of you?"

"Of course."

I hum as I cross my arms and think. I barely notice that Samuel is whispering to someone else and eying me closely. He's probably surprised that someone like Sir Lancelot would bother conversing with me.

"...Alright. What would you say is your specialty?"

"Sword combat. Typical, I know. My style of fighting is often described as quick and elaborate. I'm particularly good at fighting from atop my horse. It can come in handy when surrounded by hoards of enemies."

I nod. That seems plausible. I can picture him spinning around and doing fancy maneuvers with a blade, and he does seem like he should be on the back of some prize-winning stallion.

"Is the story about your family true? About saving a whole kingdom from that sorcerer?"

"It is." He looks strangely embarrassed by that.

"...Why were you buying those aromatic potions earlier?"

He raises an eyebrow, looking slightly amused.

"You saw that?"

"I did. You got a few bottles of some purple stuff."

He seems to mull things over for a moment, like it's a secret that he isn't yet sure he should tell me. When he makes up his mind, his smile returns, this time accompanied by a very faint flush in his cheeks.

"I... just like the smell of lavender. It helps me sleep."

"...That's it?!"

"That's it."

Lancelot of Elvensword is a shockingly nice and normal guy. A guy with that combination of looks and talent and pedigree could probably get away with being a total jerk, but he isn't like that. I almost feel like I'm having my leg pulled. There's no way he's this pure-hearted, right? Is he just waiting to trick me later?

I don't know how to respond, so I settle on fulfilling my earlier question instead. I lift the tablecloth near my seat and try to peek at the wood beneath it. My stupid bulky clothing won't let me bend over enough to pull it off.

Just as I'm about to groan and give up, Lancelot taps the tabletop with his finger. I look back up at him. Without looking me in the eye, he taps the wood again, his chin resting on his other hand in a purposefully casual way.

"It's one table."

"...What?"

I think that I know what he's saying, but it's unbelievable to me that he and I would have the same thought.

"It's one table," he repeats, "about thirty feet long. I checked."

When he finally locks eyes with me again, there's a moment of stunned silence between us. Then, I can't help but start laughing, even as an embarrassed heat spills over my cheeks. He joins me, and together, we laugh at the absurdity of this whole thing. He offers me a toast once we're recovered— a toast to fine carpentry.

I like Lancelot. I like him a lot. I think that I'm already starting to like him a lot more than I'm supposed to.

And _God_ , that can't be good.


	4. Sweet Dreams

The halls are quiet by the time I head to my bedchambers. I got distracted poking around in the library. They've got all sorts of books on magical creatures in there, and I do so enjoy reading about them. My dream, after all, is to run a rescue. People get domesticated mini-dragons these days just because they think they're cool, and then abandon them as soon as they set a few household appliances on fire. All of those creatures need a place to go, so why not start up a rescue for that purpose?

I'll probably never be able to do that, though.

I raise the candle I was given slightly higher. The people here are really dedicated to the whole _medieval_ thing. They could have just given me a flashlight, but no— I'm holding a weird little dish with a burning candle in it.

 _This place is strange_ , I think to myself. It's like a 24/7 renaissance fair or something. I saw witches and blacksmiths lining the streets and accepting payment in gold coins, but I also think I spotted at least a few smartphones. If this is the way the people here like to live, I won't judge them for it. I just can't help but find it amusing. There aren't too many "kingdoms" like this left anymore. Most of them get turned into protected nature attractions or amusement parks at some point.

My room is at the very end of the hallway. Just as I reach the door, I hear someone trying to get my attention in a whisper. I step a couple of doors to my left, to where the voice is coming from. I recognize Daniel Pridebanner. He's the one who cut my nose, after all.

"I just wanted to apologize again," he whispers. "I didn't mean to cut anybody. Hope it doesn't hurt too bad."

Another door, the one right beside Daniel's, opens the second the words leave his mouth, like the man inside was waiting.

"And I'd like to offer my apologies for my companion's idiocy, on his behalf. I'm normally better at keeping him in line."

I blink at Serin Ridgeworth, whose mysterious eyes are oddly shiny in this light. I thought that they were an olive green color, but I can see flecks of gold. I feel like his hair is a strange color, too. It's a mousy shade of brown that almost looks grey.

"Your companion? Do you two already know each other?"

Daniel sticks his head out enough to glare at Serin. His eyes are a dark shade of blue.

"What he _means to say_ is that we're very good friends. He's just trying to be all fancy about it."

It's hard for me to accept Daniel's words as fact. He and Serin are almost total opposites. Serin is thoughtful and speaks carefully, if at all, while Daniel tends to blurt out whatever is on the tip of his tongue. But then I think about it some more, and it occurs to me that opposites can often balance one another out. Maybe Daniel tries to help Serin loosen up a bit, and Serin keeps Daniel from getting himself in trouble.

"We go back a ways," Serin adds. "Our parents worked together."

"So you've known each other since you were..."

"Six," Daniel answers. "Maybe five? A long time."

" _Too_ long," Serin mutters. Daniel pretends to be mad for about three seconds before he laughs. I figure that this is just how they interact. A harmless, friendly banter.

"Did you give him back his dagger?" I ask teasingly. Serin shakes his head.

"Oh, no, not yet. I'll give it to him tomorrow after I show him how one is supposed to use it."

I let the two of them bicker about it for a minute. Then, there's a moment of quiet, and the two exchange a glance. Daniel's door swings open all the way.

"Now, listen, Tidus... There _was_ something I wanted to talk with you about, and you seem like a reasonable guy. You wanna hang out in here with me for a minute?"

Serin steps out of his room and closes his door behind him. He points at Daniel's room with his eyes, like he's trying to tell me that this is safe, that they're not going to kill me or anything. I swallow and step inside.

As soon as Daniel closes the door, Serin throws himself onto the bed. Daniel laughs and mutters something about his being a little too quick to get comfortable before he sits across from him. They pat the mattress, beckoning me to join them. I find that there's plenty of room for the three of us to sit and still have space.

"So, listen: here's what we were thinking," Daniel begins, leaning in a bit. "...These things turn into bloodbaths sometimes, right? Everyone knocks each other off a cliff at the first opportunity, or lets their comrades get bludgeoned by monsters. Ugly stuff."

I shudder. Daniel isn't wrong. Many a Knight has died while competing in a tournament.

"I'm well aware," I say through gritted teeth.

"Well, what ever happened to the code of chivalry? In the old days, a Knight was _never_ supposed to leave a comrade behind. So who says it's gotta be like it always is? What if those of us who are nice, level-headed people agree that we'll help each other out if we're in a tough spot?"

I'm shocked to hear this. Daniel hadn't struck me as the helpful type, but maybe he's just a well-intentioned goofball.

"The tournament may be a contest, but that doesn't mean that we cannot play fair," Serin says quietly, adding to his friend's point. "We help and protect one another, and in the end, the best man wins. No hard feelings. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

It does. It sounds _great_ , actually. But it's easier said than done.

"But we've got people like Samuel Wormwood and Victor Thorncloak to worry about," I argue. "They'll be looking for any opportunity to tear us apart and cut us down."

"Which only serves to further our point," Serin replies. "We're... worried about those two. And a few of the others. But to contrast Samuel Wormwood, there's Ezekiel Cromwell. To contrast Victor Thorncloak, there's Lancelot Elvensword, or Zachariah Dragonsbane. There are as many kind and reasonable people here as there are bloodthirsty types. And we feel that if we work together, we can prevent any deaths."

I don't say anything for a moment, as I'm recalling what Lancelot said at dinner.

"...Lancelot will be on board," I murmur. "At dinner, he told me not to be nervous because he won't allow any fatalities. ...He looked kind of sad."

Daniel whistles. Serin seems unsurprised.

"See? Lance has the right idea already. Whaddya say? Are you with us or not?"

They both stare me down as I contemplate my answer.

It's true. I don't want anyone to die, and neither does Lancelot. People like Victor might be out for blood, but what if we outnumber him and make sure he can't get what he wants?

"...Alright," I say. Daniel's happy reaction is immediate. "I'm in. I've got both of your backs, and I trust that you'll have mine."

Serin congratulates me for my wit and decisiveness, while Daniel opts to give me a too-hard slap on the back. He pulls a little silver badge, like an old-fashioned crest, out of his pocket, and places it in my hand, closing my fingers over it.

"Welcome to the Fellowship of the Shield," he says with an eager grin. "Think of this as a secret membership symbol."

"Thank you. I'll take it." I slip the crest into my pouch. "Does this _fellowship_ have any other members?"

Serin smirks proudly.

"I recruited Lucius Riversong and Ezekiel Cromwell at dinner," he boasts. "I encountered Lancelot in the halls later, who says he'll talk to Zachariah about it. All three of the ones I talked to mentioned you as a potential recruit, but you were a no-show after dinner. No one knew where you went."

"And I sparred with Elias Silvershield and Bartholomew Kingston in the garden after the feast, and I got them both on board," Daniel cheers.

I'm surprised by how thorough this pair has been (and shocked that Lancelot remembered me enough to mention me to another person). This 'fellowship' may already be nine people strong. Nine out of twenty... That's still less than half of the competitors, but it isn't too shabby. And having Lancelot, Zachariah, _and_ Elias might give us a fighting chance against Victor and Samuel.

We all shake hands before I leave the room and head for my own. For the first time, my heart rate has settled to an acceptable pace. Those two managed to make me feel better. It's nice to know that you'll have someone looking out for you.

My room, like Daniel's, has a dark hardwood floor and stone walls, with an enormous window and a big bed with four posts and a canopy. It seems the rooms were prepared with each of us in mind, though. Daniel's room had dark blue curtains and a matching bedspread with a pattern of golden lion’s heads, like his family's banner and crest. Mine is themed with light brown and the logo of a pale yellow pointy crown. It's a logo that doesn't suit my family anymore. A broken crown would be more accurate.

I change into my pajamas, the only bit of comfy modern clothing that we're allowed here, and climb under the sheets, and then I blow out the candle. The room is quickly enveloped in a sheet of darkness. It's the overwhelming kind that you can almost touch. It's comforting to me right now— some peace and quiet.

I allow myself to forget, for now, about the potential danger awaiting me in the morning and fall into a deep and restful sleep.


	5. Breakfast of Champions

I'm woken up at the crack of dawn by a loud bugle. It sounds like a royal guard is walking up and down the hall and playing as loud as he can. Under any other circumstances, I'd be less than happy about being jerked awake this way, but I feel well-rested thanks to the quality of my bed. I'm reluctant to leave it.

I take care of my basic hygienic rituals, throw on my clothes, and pack up the rest of my things, including the brand-new knife I got from a blacksmith in town (it's a lightweight weapon that I can easily conceal). We don't have to don our full armor until later. That stuff is way too heavy for something like eating breakfast. The fare this time should be lighter, as we don't want to get weighed down with greasy food, and the King won't be present. Even so, the guarantee of one last warm and proper meal is enticing.

Once I'm in the hallway, I run into a guy I haven't seen up close yet. His skin is dark, and his hair is made up of very tight curls that are neatly trimmed and shaved close to his head. He looks like he has facial hair, which makes me think for a moment that he's significantly older than me. A closer look at his lanky build and his gait, too casual to fit in with this environment, suggest that he is, like me, a teenager. And on closer inspection, his beard is very thin, more like a five-o-clock shadow. Like Ezekiel and Samuel, he wears glasses, but his are more modern-looking, with thick black frames that make his dark eyes seem to pop.

I'm not actually sure what his name is. He wasn't in the courtyard when Ezekiel was introducing me to people, and he was seated far away from me at dinner. The best thing to do, I figure, is strike up a conversation.

"Hey," I call out casually. He slows down to allow me to catch up with him. "You headed to breakfast?"

"Where else would I be headed?" For a second, I recoil, thinking that he's insulting my intelligence. But then he flashes a cheeky grin. "I'm just messing with you— yeah, I'm going to breakfast. Seating isn't assigned this time. You can sit with me if you'd like. I haven't had a chance to talk to you, and you seem pretty harmless."

I smile. He seems... Well, really chill. Like the kind of guy that you can talk to about anything.

"I'd like that. Before we do that, though... What's your name?"

He laughs. His laugh is warm and loud, filling up the hall, but it doesn't seem forced.

"Bartholomew," he answers, "but it's a mouthful, so most people just call me Bart. Family's the House of Kingston."

My mouth forms an _o_. Daniel said that he recruited this guy to the fellowship after the feast last night, so I know that I can trust him.

The House of Kingston is mostly known for being huge. They perform decently in tournaments. They never seem to win, but this doesn't deter them from entering again— the family is so big that they've always got at least a few tournament-age men ready to compete.

"Now, I know what you're thinking," Bart suddenly adds, "and it's true. I've got eight siblings, and more aunts and uncles and cousins and nieces and nephews than I can count."

"Wow. I can't imagine that— I've always been an only child. Are you the oldest?"

"I've got three older siblings. The other five are younger than me. My two oldest siblings already have a bunch of kids of their own."

I laugh and shake my head. I'm not sure if I should be jealous, or if I should feel sorry for him. Having that many siblings probably means having to share bedrooms and bathrooms, right? At least I get my cot in the corner of the basement all to myself.

"...Do you like having such a big family?" I ask timidly. He laughs again. He probably gets that question all the time.

"Oh, it's definitely got its downsides sometimes. They seem to love to embarrass me, but, hey, that's only because they love me so much. I'll probably have lots of kids myself. I wouldn't trade my big happy family for anything."

At that, my heart settles on jealousy. To have so many people who love and support you— who _wouldn't_ be jealous of something like that? My family consists of two people besides me, and their favorite things to do are to throw stuff at me and to yell. I probably shouldn't drag Bart down with stuff like that, though.

"That... sounds nice," I manage after an awkwardly long pause. "You've got lots of people rooting for you back home."

"I certainly do."

We continue to chat as we make our way to the dining hall. Some of the other competitors are already seated. A few of them are checking their equipment or studying local maps.

Without so much as glancing at everyone else, Bartholomew takes a confident seat beside Ezekiel, who happily shakes his hand and says he's glad to see him. Apparently, the other fellowship members have had plenty of time to get to know one another.

Ezekiel has a purposeful glint in his eye. Even I can see that much. I timidly take the empty seat across from him. I'm in between two other guys I don't know much about, who had, until I sat down, been talking to one another. I look desperately to Ezekiel and Bartholomew. Ezekiel gives me a subtle wink.

"Have you met my friend Tidus, guys?" he asks, gesturing at me with me one hand. The boy to my left, the one with the sharply-cut (and very modern) light brown hair and light green eyes, gives me a disinterested look. "He's from the House of Crestfall."

"A pleasure," the other boy says. His dirty blonde hair has grown past his chin and seems unkempt, and his brown eyes are very droopy. He sounds like he means what he says, but his face says he's off in some dream world. "Name's Matthias, House of Brün or whatever, but you can just, like, call me Matt."

He strokes his scruffy chin stubble and chuckles at nothing. He's making me kind of nervous. Is he drunk or something?

"He's twenty-three," Ezekiel says, almost like he's answering my question. "And Arthur of Dransmuth there is nineteen."

Arthur scowls at Ezekiel's nonchalant introduction.

" _Look_ ," he says bluntly, "I'm not here to play Knights of the round table."

 _That's... Ironic, considering your name_ , I don't say.

"And _what_ , exactly, are you here to do?" Ezekiel asks. His usual friendly expression is replaced with a hard frown. He probably wasn't expecting to get shut down so quickly.

"I'm in it for the chicks."

"...I'm sorry?" I squeak, stunned. Arthur snickers at me.

I swear to god that I don't understand the straights. I really don't. Why would anyone risk life and death for some girls?! Arthur just grins in response to my perplexed gaze.

"You heard me! That Princess Rose is a _babe_ , I'll tell ya. And even if I can't have her, the ladies love a Knight in shining armor. All I gotta do is win a couple of challenges, maybe make it as far as the third village, and I'm set for life. It'll be an endless stream of chicks for me."

My lips curl into a disgusted frown. It's a shame— he's a good-looking guy, with amazing cheekbones and jaw structure and pretty eyes. And then he had to go and ruin it by opening his stupid mouth. Is this what women deal with all the time?! With lazy egomaniacs like this?! I really wish that I could call up all of my girlfriends back home and ask them to tell me everything. It'll have to wait until later.

"Your motives are less than chivalrous," Bartholomew says. His face is a perfect blank, his voice completely deadpan. I chuckle obnoxiously, making some kind of unattractive snorting sound. Arthur shoots me a glare.

Ezekiel seems to have given up on recruiting Arthur into the Fellowship of the Shield. And I can't blame him for that judgement call— I don't want a guy like that in any fellowship of mine. He turns his attention to Matthias, who hasn't said much.

"And what about you?" Ezekiel asks Matthias. He shrugs in response.

"I dunno. Seemed like a good way to pass some time. Maybe I'll, like, make some new buds or whatever."

Ezekiel takes a long, deep breath. He looks like he's suddenly developed a migraine as he studies Matthias' face for any hint of deception.

"...You don't have a reason." He says this so tersely that I can't help but laugh. Matthias shrugs again and takes a long swig of whatever liquid is in his cup.

Breakfast is served right about then, and I chow down just so that I don't have to continue this conversation. This whole _fellowship_ thing might be more trouble than had realized— maybe the others are having an easier time recruiting people than we are.

I can only hope that Arthur and Matthias are the most useless of the bunch.


	6. Noble Steed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OBLIGATORY APOLOGY: Further apologies to anyone following multiple works of mine, as you'll see this exact message more than once.
> 
> I am VERY sorry for my longer-than-usual delay in updating. I've always been slow when it comes to writing, but it's been difficult for me to keep up with it lately. Unfortunately, I have had very severe writer's block since my father's death on July 21st. Planning the service and making next of kin arrangements has also taken up a lot of my family's time, and being with them is my primary focus right now. Again, sorry for the wait, but hopefully you can all understand.

I've been so caught up in worrying about my stature and my armor, in comparison to the rest of these guys, that I had overlooked something else, and now I kind of want to roll over and die.

We're all suited up, carrying our heavy supply bags and rolled-up tents on our backs. The announcer is going over the rules. I'm only half-listening, since I know most of this already. He gives us all maps with the route outlined.

We don't just head straight for the princess and fight together to save her. Instead, we take some long way and face challenges and contests and fight monsters and free villagers along the way. Why? Because that's just the way we do things. That's how it's been for hundreds of years, and that's how it's going to stay.

When the announcer finishes, our journey officially begins. A bugle calls forth the stablehands, who bring each of us our horses. They've been looked after for us since we arrived.

Everyone else has a horse. I have something a bit... _different_. Think of it as a discount model.

I try to hide the redness of my face as I climb onto my steed. I hear snickering behind me. Thaddeus of Thunderhell and Alphonse of Castlebreak approach me on their horses, both proper ones with long legs and muscular frames.

"What _is_ that? Is that even a horse?!" Thaddeus loudly mocks. I just roll my eyes.

"...She's actually a pony," I admit under my breath. "Her name is Buttercup."

 _Look_ : I wanted the thoroughbred stallion with the shiny coat and the cool name as much as the next guy. I really did. But horses are expensive, and my father is cheap on top of us being poor, so he got me a pony instead. I've grown attached to her over the years, so it feels bad to be embarrassed by her, especially since she's pretty fast for such a short thing... The point is, I don't actually have a horse. And I can see more and more of the other Knights noticing it.

"Why did they even let you enter?" Alphonse asks scornfully. That... actually stings a little. "You don't even have the basic—"

"Such a pretty girl."

Alphonse lets his words trail off, stunned, as he looks the the intruding voice. I'm as surprised as he is.

Lancelot Elvensword is affectionately stroking Buttercup's muzzle, smiling faintly as he does so. His own steed, a reddish-brown thoroughbred, waits patiently behind him. His other hand hold the reigns.

"She _is_ really cute," a somewhat squeaky voice chirps. I turn to see a boy that doesn't look old enough to be here. "A steed is a steed, right?"

Alphonse grumbles something under his breath, and Thaddeus scoffs as his horse trots away. Alphonse seems reluctant to follow his lead, but he does it anyway. He seems like the kind of guy that's suspicious of everyone and everything, and Lucius, who tried talking to him at breakfast, said that he's done nothing but complain since his arrival. I suppose blatant pessimism is a default setting for some people.

"...Thanks," I mumble. The boy gives me a warm smile. Lancelot gives Buttercup a scratch behind the ears.

"Oh, you don't have to thank me," the boy replies nonchalantly. "Because it's true! Freckles here isn't exactly a racehorse either, but I love her anyway."

The boy pats his horse's neck with pride. She's grey, mostly, but dappled with lots of spots of white and a darker shade. _Freckles_ , indeed. I can't help but smile at the innocence of his sentiments.

"Freckles is cute, too. So, uh, what's your name?" I ask. I see Lancelot climbing atop his horse out of the corner of my eye and pretend that I'm not sneaking glances. The other boy pats his chest.

"Nathaniel! Nathaniel of Hawkinsleer. But most people just call me _Nate_ ," he answers a bit too eagerly.

I stare at him. I can't shake the feeling that he really isn't old enough to be here. He's even shorter than me, for one thing, and he's also scrawnier in build and has a round face, as if he still has yet to lose the "baby fat" in that region. But you have to be eighteen to enter, right? How could someone younger have gotten in? I shake my head to dismiss that niggling thought.

"It's nice to meet you, Nate. I'm Tidus of Crestfall." I extend my hand to his, and he shakes it firmly, like someone applying for a job who's too enthusiastic about impressing their potential boss. It's kind of endearing. This guy doesn't seem like the type for betrayals, at least.

"It's an honor!"

 _I doubt that_ , I think to myself. Still, he doesn't seem like he's lying.

I turn to find that Lancelot is still there, watching the two of us and not saying anything. He looks a bit startled when I meet his eyes. Like he was caught in the act or something.

"I... was thinking about the teams," he offers as an excuse. "I'd prefer to be around pleasant people."

My brow furrows.

"Teams? ...What teams?"

"Weren't you listening, Tidus of Crestfall?!"

A booming voice interrupts our conversation. Elias trots up on a cream-colored Clydesdale. He's got a family banner attached to his saddle and everything.

"I... might have zoned out for a little while," I admit. He tut-tuts at me, waggling a scolding finger.

"You must pay careful attention in the future! Ignorance can get one killed in this sort of scenario." He reaches us, and then he taps his chest. "...We were asked to divide ourselves into four teams of five competitors. We must each take a different path and meet at our first campsite. If a group cannot make it to the site by nightfall, they are deemed unworthy of the competition and promptly removed."

"That's... Fair, I guess," I reply awkwardly. I can't believe I missed such a crucial detail. "...Teams of five, eh?"

"Exactly! I came here with the very intention of asking you and Lancelot of Elvensword if you would care to join me!"

I'm surprised by the offer. Asking Lancelot makes sense, as he's got a good steed and seems generally capable. People aren't putting their money on him for no reason. But why bother to ask me to join him? Does he just enjoy my company?

Before I can ask, I notice Bartholomew trotting up behind Elias. He's riding a patchy brown and white horse with some braids in its mane, and he flashes me a thumbs-up. Maybe this has something to do with the whole fellowship thing? The four of us are all members. If that's the idea, then...

"I'll come along," I answer, "but only if we can bring Nate!"

I slap him playfully across his shoulder plate. He looks startled. Shocked, actually.

"M-Me?!"

Elias studies the boy, and then he directs a curious look at Lancelot, who nods. Elias, loud as he is, doesn't seem to be stubborn. And there's no hint of genuine meanness or elitism in him. He smiles.

"A fine idea, Tidus! With him, our five are assembled!"

Nathaniel doesn't react to the invitation right away. Instead, he studies my face, and then Lancelot's, to make sure we're being serious. When he realizes that we mean it, his face widens into this big, childish grin. A megawatt smile if I ever saw one. I can't help but giggle at it.

"...O-Okay! I'll go with you guys! Th-Thanks."

"It's no problem," I reply through a shrug. "You seem nice. If we've gotta travel in a group, I'd prefer to be with decent people than anybody else."

"That makes sense, I guess," Nathaniel says. He watches as Lancelot steers his horse in the right direction and trots up alongside Elias and Bartholomew. He waits for me to do the same, and then he follows me.

I look off to the horizon. One team has already set off. I recognize Samuel and Victor from the back. It makes sense that the two people everyone is scared of would end up on the same team. Alphonse Castlebreak and Thaddeus Thunderhell were the ones harassing me earlier, so I recognize their horses. The fifth figure... He looks different in his full suit of armor, and from behind, but if I'm not mistaken, it's the guy that Samuel was talking to at dinner and at breakfast this morning. Dante of Redwater, I think?

Whoever that fifth person is, I'm glad I'm not in his shoes. Those four are sure to make for unpleasant company.

"Well, Tidus," someone says right beside me, "I'll see you at the campsite. You'd better get there in time!"

I turn to my right to see Ezekiel smiling at me from the back of his steed. Beside him is Lucius Riversong— the guy who patched up my nose earlier. They seemed to get along pretty well. He's also accompanied by Serin and Daniel. It seems you can never find one of them without finding the other. Their group is headed by Zachariah, and Daniel shoots me a wink just before he rides off into the sunrise. Apparently, they plan to convince Zachariah to join us once and for all.

Only one group is behind us. It seems to be the leftovers group. I know that might sound kind of mean, but I really don't know how else to put it. I can see Arthur and Matthias there, but I don't really know the other three. Which is odd, since all three of them are very distinct in appearance. Even in his full-coverage armor and helmet, I easily recognize one figure. ...Because he's _huge_. A giant among men if I ever saw one. Kind of hard to miss.

"What are we waiting for, gentlemen?!" Elias' voice booms. "Let us be off!"

Bartholomew and Nathaniel respond with a cheer and a laugh, and then they're off at full speed. Only Lancelot and I remain where we started. He turns and offers me another of those kind smiles.

"Let's get going then, shall we?"

I stare at the ground, and then at Buttercup, taking a moment to resolve myself. As soon as I leave the territory of this castle town, it's really begun, and I can't turn back.

I take a deep breath.

"Alright. ...Let's go."


	7. Small Fry

"...How old are you, Nathaniel?"

I'm apparently not the only one with that concern. Elias squints at the boy's face as he asks that question, and Nathaniel blushes.

"I-I'm eighteen! Just barely, but I didn't want to wait until the next tournament."

Nathaniel won't meet Elias' eyes. Instead, he studies the grass below him and his horse, watching as it slowly passes by.

We made quite a bit of progress in the first hour or so of our journey. There's no doubt in our minds that we'll reach our destination in time, so for now, we're traveling at a leisurely pace and enjoying the scenery. The kingdom really is beautiful. It looks like something out of _Lord of the Rings_ , with rolling green hills everywhere and a bright blue sky as far as the eye can see. We plan to take a short break in a little while to let the horses rest.

"Why didn't you want to wait? You don't strike me as an eager knight," Bartholomew remarks. Nathaniel chuckles nervously.

"Well... there are some circumstances. It's for my family's sake."

"What do you mean?" I ask. "I mean, I don't wanna pry, but..."

"I-It's fine." Nathaniel commands his horse to slow down. "...See, my family used to be successful, but we've fallen on hard times. A relative cost us our honor. And my father never won a tournament when he was younger, and we really needed the money because my mom's pregnant, so he started getting ready to enter. But... he got sick. So he can't compete. I... I volunteered to go. I doubt I can win, but I at least want to make them proud. Maybe I can bring some business our way."

I'm pleasantly surprised by the answer. Nathaniel may be small, and he's very young and seems to be pretty timid, but he's got a lot of ambition and a respectable reason for being here.

"...I'm sure you'll do well," Lancelot says encouragingly. "Even if you don't have as much experience as some of the rest of us, your determination alone will carry you through many challenges."

"You've been in tournaments before, right?" Bartholomew realizes aloud, looking at Lancelot. Lancelot looks away.

"...Only two, and nothing on this grand a scale..."

"Did you win either of them?"

"...Both. ...B-But, again, it wasn't anything as challenging as this."

"How admirable! That modesty of yours is quite charming," Elias booms. "What sorts of challenges did you face?"

Lancelot looks like he doesn't want to talk about this, for whatever reason, but all eyes are on him and he seems to have little choice but to answer. Everyone's curious. I'm dying to know.

"...The first tournament was a simple arena sort of thing," Lancelot answers after a pause to collect his thoughts. "Knights were paired off and fought one another, then the victors faced off, until only one man was left standing."

"Just you?!" Nathaniel squawks. Lancelot nods, but doesn't add anything else. _This guy really can fight_ , I realize.

"The other was a bit more well-rounded. A variety of physical challenges and puzzles were arranged over a large span of land, ending in a sort of 'boss fight' against a former tournament champion. The victor was the Knight that successfully made it through each challenge in the shortest amount of time. I won for beating the course in about thirty-six hours."

He makes it sound like it's not a big deal, since thirty-six hours is a long time, but context is everything. I won't let him get away with being this vague.

"And the runner up?"

"P-Pardon?" Lancelot's eyes are slightly panicked when they meet mine.

"The runner up. What was the _second_ fastest time?"

He blushes and lowers his eyes to his saddle.

"...Four and a half days."

Elias whistles.

"Impressive!" He laughs for a minute before he continues. "I have entered several tournaments myself. I have spent the last year signing up for each one that I can in preparation for this ordeal!"

"And do _you_ have any victories?" Bartholomew asks. Elias nods.

"I, too, have two victories under my belt! Though I can assure you that it was nothing so impressive as what our friend Lancelot has accomplished."

Elias laughs his friendly and boisterous laugh again as Lancelot seems to shrink into himself. I suddenly remember something I was told earlier.

"O-Oh, that's right," I remind myself aloud. "You don't like being called by your full name, do you?"

Everyone shoots him a curious glance. Lancelot nods slowly.

"...I guess that kinda makes sense," Nathaniel muses after an awkward pause in conversation. "Naming a Knight after the most famous Knight ever... It's kind of a boastful name, huh?"

"It's... not that." Lancelot frowns. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"It's not? Is it just because it's so long, or because it's old-fashioned?"

Lancelot looks like he's not sure if he should answer, and then he sighs.

"...Lancelot of the round table Knights is, in fact, one of the most well-known Knight ever. But everyone focuses on that part, his initial fame and skill, and forgets about the part where he betrays Arthur by lying with his queen."

I make a long sound of realization, and I kind of feel like an idiot. That _is_ a thing that happened. Lancelot— the original one— totally slept with his king's wife.

"So as far as you're concerned," Bartholomew guesses, "you're not named after some grand hero. You're named after a really lousy friend."

Lancelot nods. Everyone hums in understanding.

"I-Is there something you wanna be called instead?" Nathaniel asks politely. "People call me Nate, and he's Bart, and you're..."

"Lance," he answers. "Just Lance."

After that's confirmed, we ride in silence for a while. It's Elias who eventually looks at Lance, and they both nod and signal Bartholomew about something before he turns and winks at me. I realize what they're planning to bring up. Now seems as good a time as any— we have to stop and take a break, and Nathaniel seems a little more comfortable than he was when we started out.

"Let's stop and rest for a while," Elias commands. He points at a cluster of trees on a nearby flat hilltop, just a short ways off of our path. "Those trees should provide excellent shade!"

"That sounds nice," Nathaniel says, relieved. "This is surprisingly grueling, huh?"

He's not wrong. Riding might look like sitting, but it does strain certain muscles, and the hot sun and this heavy armor don't help matters. I let out a contented sigh as I dismount Buttercup and stretch my legs. The grass is soft, and resting against the trunk of the nearest tree is comfortable. I pull out my canteen and take a swig of water and watch as Elias and Lance sit on either side of Nathaniel, who doesn't seem to know what's happening.

"So," Lancelot begins, "I'm sure you've heard tales of these tournaments... About the various ways they've gone wrong. About betrayals and deaths."

Nathaniel gulps.

"O-Of course I have. I can only hope that doesn't happen this time."

"We agree," Elias says. "That's why we wanted to invite you to join our fellowship!"

Elias certainly doesn't waste any time beating around the bush. I chuckle at his honesty. Nathaniel looks confused.

"Fellowship? ...What do you mean?"

Lance nods at me, and the four of us produce our little shield badges. Lance, it seems, was given two extras to hand out to others, while Elias has one extra. Nathaniel's eyes glimmer as he studies them.

"I must give credit to Daniel and Serin for the idea," Lance confesses, "but we've started something called the Fellowship of the Shield. We wish to combat any needless violence and uphold the code of chivalry. Anyone with a shield like this is a member, and he will not betray you or cause any senseless fighting."

Nathaniel nods slowly.

"Th-That sounds nice, but... I don't know if you want a guy like me in your alliance. I can hardly do anything."

"Which is exactly why you should join," Bartholomew says somewhat ominously. "Guys like Samuel and Victor? They're looking for opportunities to take out the little guys. They'll knock you down when you're not expecting it, and it won't be fair to you. But we won't let that happen. We'll look out for you."

Nathaniel thinks it over. He looks a bit conflicted, and I can imagine why. He probably doesn't want to rely on bodyguards, but at the same time, he doesn't deserve to get taken out unfairly just because he's little. Some extra pairs of eyes watching his back can't do him any harm. And in return, he can watch my back.

"...I'm kind of a shrimp, too," I add. "But I can still do my best. And you'll do the same, won't you?"

Nathaniel gives a nod at that, strengthening his own resolve, and then he snatches one of the extra shields from Lance, who smiles.

"A fine decision!" Elias praises. "With this, the bonds of chivalry grow stronger!"

Elias is kind of a cartoon character, for lack of a better word, but I'm starting to like him a lot. He says exactly what he means. We could use more people like that in this world, I think. Nathaniel seems to feel similarly and smiles at him.

With that out of the way, everyone settles down against the trees. I scoot over until I'm sharing a tree with Nathaniel, pulling my canteen out as casually as I can and taking a small sip of water. I don't want to waste the whole thing just because I'm thirsty.

"...I hope I don't screw up," Nathaniel murmurs.

I'm not sure why, but seeing someone even smaller and more afraid than I am makes me feel more confident. Like I can be a big brother to him, or something.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'll stand by you," I promise. "And no matter what happens, I'll do my best to make sure nothing bad happens to you."

Nathaniel gapes at me, stunned.

"But... why?!"

"Well..." I set down my canteen and turn to face him wearing a wide grin. "...because us little guys have to stick together."

That gets a big, lopsided puppy dog smile out of him, and he bumps a fist against mine as we both laugh.

If nothing else, I just might get some good friends out of this whole thing.


	8. Base Camp

I'm left slack-jawed by what I see when we reach the camp.

Our group, somehow, is the second to make it, and the first one, waiting for us, is the last one I had expected.

"Nice of you to join us," Arthur calls out smugly. Matthias lets out a hoot and waves a mug at me. I think he's already drinking?

"Excellent work, gentlemen!" Elias greets loudly. I'm still stuck in disbelief and can't offer them any words of praise.

"Forget that— how the hell did you beat us here?!" Bartholomew protests. Arthur snickers.

"Guess you were just too slow!"

"Shortcut."

There's a silence as we try to figure out who had spoken, and then all eyes are on the hulking giant of a boy sitting on the grass. Arthur, who'd wanted to pretend to be really skilled, glares at him.

"What was that, Wilhelm of Vrahn?" Elias asks. The giant, whose face I can't seem to see through his horned helmet, nods his head.

"We find shortcut. Get here fast."

Wilhelm. _He's_ the giant. His family traveled here from really far away, from another proper kingdom like this one, and I guess that explains his broken English. I'd already heard that much about the Vrahn family.

"You just couldn't let me have the pride, could you?!" Arthur shouts at him. Wilhelm looks down, and he seems kind of sad.

"...Lies not good."

"I agree!" Elias declares through a laugh as he dismounts his horse. "Honesty is always the best policy, and unwarranted smugness is not befitting of a Knight!"

"Whatever. You're all taking this way too seriously," Arthur grumbles under his breath as he trudges back to Matthias' side. And while I'm not necessarily even in this to win it, I can't help but feel like he isn't taking it seriously enough. People have died for these tournaments. People _still die_ for these tournaments.

I take a moment to survey the camp. To my pleasant surprise, there's a fenced-in pasture here for the horses. Arthur and the rest of his group have already released theirs, and they're happily frolicking around or munching on grass. The rest of the area has a couple of bathroom stalls (modern plumbing! Thank god!) and a little wooden building that, I assume, has some food, or maybe a kitchen. There's a note posted on the front of its door that reads "for this year's tournament Knights".

There's a large flat area for the tents with a fire pit in the middle that's surrounded by a few log benches. That's where the winning team is sitting. Except for Wilhelm, that is— he's sitting on the grass a ways away from the others and fiddling with something I can't quite see.

I sigh. We tried our best, but somehow, the group full of lazy people managed to beat us. ...Well, Arthur and Matthias are lazy. I have yet to properly meet the other three guys.

Wilhelm seems nice enough. His size is deceptive. I release Buttercup into the pasture, and then I walk over to one of the log benches, where a tall and kind of slender pretty boy sits. I take a seat next to him as my team members take care of their own horses.

"S-So we haven't met yet... Tidus Crestfall. And you are?"

I'm expecting for the handshake that I offer to be returned, but instead, the guy sort of sneers at my hand. Like I'm carrying the plague or something, or like I offered him a dead rat. I quickly withdraw it. I'm already not very fond of this one. That might be a new record.

"You don't even recognize me? You must have been living under some sort of rock. ...But, well, you _are_ impoverished. I suppose it can't be helped."

Okay, scratch my earlier vague description: fuck this guy. I can't stand him.

"...My family is poor. I won't deny that. That... doesn't mean you get to talk down to me, though."

I'm surprised to hear those words come out of my own mouth. I'm not usually so confrontational. The man just chuckles, looking amused.

"Bold, are we? I can at least respect that." He flips his long feathery hair over to his other shoulder. "Cain. Of the House of Ossalius."

 _Ah_. Ezekiel tried to warn me about this guy.

The Ossalius family is all about appearances. I already know which of the horses is his. I saw a white show mare in the pasture with a curly mane and tail. That one's gotta be his. Ossalius is a wealthy house and heavily involved in music, theatre, and the other arts, and they feed on attention and praise.

So you'd think a guy from a family like that would be useless in combat, right? Well, you'd actually be wrong. The House of Ossalius has won quite a few major tournaments. It's mostly because they're tactical fighters. They let everybody else do all the heavy lifting while they avoid being injured, and then they sweep in for the kill when everyone else is worn out. It's often a less than honorable way to win, but they don't care if it means they get some more gold or a shiny trophy.

"I _have_ heard of your family," I confirm, ignoring how rude he is. "I just didn't know about you. What's your deal?"

He snorts at me. He's polishing his blade, which is made of that same shiny metal as Elias' armor, so it looks white. The handle is gold and encrusted with jewels. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was a fencing sword. The blade is pretty thin, but I have no doubt that it's sharp enough to make up for that.

"My _deal?_ If you're referring to my speciality, that would be tactical swordsmanship. The rest of these brutes just swing a sword around like an ogre with a club, but not I. I'm something like a dancer with a blade."

He's pretty full of himself. He does look like some kind of Prince... His hair is tied with a light purple ribbon into a loose ponytail thrown over one shoulder, and he's wearing a fancy powder-blue coat with gold and white detailing over his chainmail. He hasn't changed out of his armor yet. I look around, and while I see where he set his lightweight shield, I don't see a helmet anywhere.

"Do you not wear a helmet?" I ask. He rolls his eyes.

"Of course not. It would mess up my hair."

"...Right."

I slowly scoot down the bench until I'm able to stand and run away from him. I feel like if I talk to him for too long, my brain will melt.

I find Elias and Bartholomew. They've gotten started on setting up their tents. The other team must have been waiting for a while, as their tents are already up and properly furnished. Nathaniel is sitting beside Wilhelm. I don't see Lance anywhere.

"Hey, Bart," I call, "where did Lance run off to?"

Bartholomew laughs.

"He and Gareth ran off to survey the area, see if maybe there are some berries or fruit trees around. Lance is, uh... In for quite a treat. That guy is a real character."

"Gareth?" I repeat the name. I know I haven't met anyone with that name in person. I file through the list of entries in my head until I find the right one. "House of Gehenna, right?"

"Right," Bartholomew confirms. "They got the name for taking down an arch-demon some, like, six hundred years ago, and they've been demon hunters ever since. It's kind of weird, since _Gehenna_ pretty much literally means _hell_... And sometimes I can't tell if they're supposed to be demon hunters or demonic sorcerers themselves."

"...I don't think it's that far-fetched," I reply with a shrug. "Ever seen a movie with vampires and vampire hunters? Everybody's always goth. Just different kinds of goth. If you spend all your time talking about and hunting demons, you're bound to act a little weird."

From what I've heard, the Gehenna family makes use of mysterious elixirs and magical weaponry and the dark arts in their efforts to defeat wicked demons. But since not all demons are inherently bad guys, they'll sometimes get other demons on their side. Some of them can even summon demon allies and familiars. _That_ must be where all the confusion about their family comes from. Regardless of how strange and ominous it all sounds, I'm eager to meet this Gareth.

That is, assuming he doesn't hurt Lance or anything.

I can't help but feel a little nervous as I move to set up my own tent, hoping that Gareth, at the very least, is better than Cain.


End file.
